


Laundry Day

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: The second time...
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	Laundry Day

Memories of their first time were shrouded in a golden haze. He knew it had happened. But he couldn’t pick out details. It was like a dream, waking up with her curled around his back and a warmth in his chest. Perhaps it wasn’t real? 

Since that night, they’d been busy with work stuff, and he figured she needed some space to work through this new…he couldn’t even think of a word for it. Love was one descriptor. But even that didn’t do just to what he felt for her. There weren’t oceans deeper than his feelings for her.

Now it was Sunday. Laundry day. He had an itch to spend it with her. Not the most romantic thought, but romance was for the masses. They’d been flirting with each other under the eyes of mutants and monsters for years. He couldn’t risk candlelight when her life had been threatened in soft pools of naked flames too often. What use was a movie when real life was a constant blockbuster? Who needed fancy dining when cannibals, along with the truth, were out there? Besides, what could be more intimate than folding your significant other’s smalls?

She arrived with a bag of her own washing. A thrill of rushed through him. Mundanity had never been so sexy.

“You should use fabric softener, Mulder,” she said, loading her clothes into the tub.

“Is that why you always smell so good?” he asked, nuzzling her neck and watching the hairs on her arms rise.

She laughed softly. “No, that’s because I shower every day.”

“Mz Scully, are you suggesting I am lacking in the hygiene department?” He twisted her round and lifted her onto the machine as it started to fill with water.

“That is not what I meant and you know it. Are we really going to sit here while the load finishes?” She jabbed a finger into the casing around his heart. “I mean, I won’t lie. Sitting on a machine during the spin cycle is…fun, but, probably only for me.”

He chuckled, trying to imagine her doing such a thing. There was a rebellious streak in Scully that often took him by surprise. A contrary daughter, a stubborn sister, a nonconformist student. A sometimes defiant partner. And now she was presenting an image of a singularly carnal woman whilst wearing freckles and capri pants.

“So, Mulder, are we going to wring each other dry or darn socks? Your choice.” Another red light signal from this impish version of her. His cock twitched in response and he led her to the bedroom.

She sat on the bed and the sheets rustled. Why hadn’t he thought of fabric softener? This Scully deserved satin and silk and velvet. She slipped off her shoes and he had a sudden urge to kneel at her feet. Worship at her altar. She was a more than worthy goddess.

“Have you lost your tongue, Mulder?” She patted the bed next to her.

He shook his head, loosening the tee from his waistband.

“Because that would be a damned shame.” Her hand twined around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a tender kiss. There was an eagerness there, he could feel it in her throat, taste in on her tongue, hear the quickening of her breathing. The pulse in her neck beat with gusto when he brushed a finger up and down her soft skin.

“Does this feel real to you Scully?” His room glowed golden in her presence. She shone before him.

She lifted his tee over his head and traced the outline of his nipples so gently his skin shivered with gooseflesh. “It sure looks real.” She kissed around his areola, licking at his nipples, kneading the centre point of his chest with the heel of one hand. The swing of her hair against his arm tickled yet he couldn’t laugh; his senses were so heightened he would cry, he was certain.

“I thought that being domestic with you might bring me down to earth. But you seem even more heavenly.”

She pulled back, quirked a smile at him. “I’m not a celestial being, Mulder. I’m me. Flesh and blood Scully. And much as I love the order and comfort of a freshly washed and dried load of laundry, I did read the subtext of your invitation and well, to put it bluntly, I came to fuck you.”

Blood rushed south. His mind emptied. Her pale blue sweater hit the floor and his eyes fixed to the lacy contour of her bra. Flesh and blood Scully. God, she was so much more than that.

“The first time was a surprise, Mulder. For me and I’m sure for you, too. But this time, this marks the first of many deliberately made choices…I hope.” She dropped her head back and his neurons finally sparked.

The points of her hyoid bone were smooth and begging to be kissed. The taste of her, the feel of her, these sensations imprinted on his brain, an inventory of perfection, as he laid down with her, tugging at clothes and listening to that machine spinning and spinning. The firm length of her thigh over his hip was light yet substantial, real. His fingers bridged above her knee, squeezing gently, eliciting a series of soft and encouraging moans. He moved up to her ass, where she tipped her pelvis forward at his touch. The feel of her against him, the way she lifted her lithe body up and down against the ridge of his length, sent shockwaves down his spine.

He shifted them both higher up the bed and she trailed a finger down his abdomen to the tuft of hair above his cock. Her fingers found him, eager, wet-tipped and she made an appreciative noise in her throat.

Same, Scully, same, he thought.

Her command of him was utter. He submitted to her in every way, following her lead, deferring to her palms, fingers, tongue, lips. When he finally entered her, she was liquid fire around him. Beneath him, but not yielding, her breasts crushed under his chest, her palms pushed against his shoulders, her insolent chin tilted. Her eyes, wild ocean blue, held his gaze, silently urging him on. She rocked her hips and he responded. She rolled, he answered. Pleasure built in his toes, shooting up his calves, thighs, lower back. Heat, bodies slapping, grunting and moaning. It was impossible to separate one from the other. They were truly joined and she called his name, eyes squeezing shut, mouth slack as she panted down. He spilled into her, fingers bruising her ass, jaw taut, chest fully expanded.

The washing machine tumbled to a climax, screaming, shuddering, silenced. He collapsed onto her and she muttered a soft ‘oof’ before giggling and pushing him off, leaving their legs knotted together.

“Wow,” she said. “I haven’t worked up such a sweat in a loooong time.”

He wiped his forehead. “Me either. But totally worth the cardiac strain.”

“I love your big and strong heart.” She pressed a kiss against the side of his neck and the pulse there went into overdrive. He placed a finger on the hotspot as his breathing steadied.

He found her an old sweatshirt that almost reached her knees, a pair of woolly socks and threw a blanket over the couch against the cooling evening air. He made her tea. Ordered pizza, flicked through the channels and settled on some chick flick, just to watch her watch it.

“I should go,” she said, grabbing some more suitable clothes and heading into his bedroom to change.

He followed her in and watched her shimmy out of his outfit.

“You want me to throw these in the wash?” she asked.

Holding them to his chest, he dipped his nose to the sweat. “No way,” he said. And she smiled coyly.

As he laid down that night, inhaled the scent of their joint bodies, he decided fabric softener was over-rated.


End file.
